Yellow Ghost: La Femme Selita Prequel (3 page)

12 YEARS OLD

I was twelve years old when I met my brother. A stupid brother I never knew existed. My Father could keep secrets.

This boy was four years older than me. Father explained that he was adopted just like me. I asked why he didn’t have any real children of his own. Father told me long ago his wife died during childbirth. He believed he was cursed because if it. It didn’t really make sense to me but it was clear he believed it to be so.

I was told the boy was waiting for us downstairs. I paced my father’s bedroom. He dressed in his suit jacket. We were to go downstairs and greet my brother. We’re taking my brother to dinner in America. My father refused to share the boy’s name with me. One of his silly games, he wanted me to ask the boy his name in Japanese. He was testing my skill of the language. I’m just glad that boy isn’t Chinese. I have a heard time with Mandarin.

“Father is he your real son?” I was bold enough to ask before we ventured downstairs to greet the boy.

“Selita I told you he was a adopted.”

I remembered but I somehow thought he might be lying to spare my feelings. I was trying to trick him into telling me the truth. “Yes you did.”

“I adopted him as I adopted you.”

“Why?”

“There is no need for jealousy. I will always favor you more than him because you are a girl.”

“Did you say the same thing to him?”

He chuckled. “No of course not. I want you to treat him like family because he is your family. He is the only brother you have.”

“I may have another. There’s no way to know for sure. My mother got around.”

“When will you grow out of hating your mother?”

“She let me go to foster care. She sold me. I’m entitled to hate her for at the very least two more years.”

“Your caseworker Diane Murphy played a great part in your adoption. She is the one that sold you.”

“Yeah sure but Martika gave up her parental rights. I know she didn’t do it for free.”

“Come. We must go.” Father grabbed my wrist and pulled me out into the hallway.

He let go of my hand and I followed him down the staircase. The boy was waiting in the atrium. He was wearing a suit. Ugh, what a dork.

I saw him standing there looking super-stupid. He was big, much bigger than me.
I hated this phantom brother as soon as I laid eyes on him. He was Japanese just like father. I suspected that Father loved him more than me. I knew it was stupid but I hated that he was here in the United States. I wished he would go back to Japan.

He was only sixteen but he had the body of a man. He was taller than Father. He was wearing those shiny shoes just like Father, the copycat.

“
Konnichiwa
Selita.”

“
Konnichiwa
.” I replied, as I looked at him from his head down to his toes.

I decided to come right at him, to ask the question that Father refused to tell me.

“
Oai dekite ureshii desu.
” He says it’s nice to meet me but the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“
Namae wa nandesu ka
?”

“
Watashi no namae wa
Takeo Hiroshima.” He smirked. He has Father’s last name and I don’t.

“
Toshi wa ikutsu desu ka
?”

I know he knows the answer to that question. “I’m twelve.”

“Speak Japanese Selita.” Father warned me and I squinted my eyes at him. I was done with Takeo and Japanese. My Father knew I was stubborn.

Father placed his hand on my shoulder. “Selita give Takeo a tour of the house before we go to dinner.”

“Follow me.” Loser. I smiled in the fakest way I knew possible. I turned my back to Takeo and started heading toward the stairs.

We walked silently up the stairs.

“I didn’t know you would be a Black American.”

“I don’t care what you know.”

“You are much to young to be a grumpy.”

“You are much too old to be a --” dummy.

“You don’t like me very much do you?”

“I don’t know you very much.” I smirked.

“Americans and their attitudes.”

“Fuck you.”

“Does Father know you use vulgar language?”

“Father lets me do whatever I want. He likes me better than you.”

He chuckled. “That’s highly doubtful little black girl.”

“I’m done with this tour. I’m hungry.” Takeo turned around and went back the way we came. I had no choice but to follow him.

We went to dinner and Father did most of the talking. He asked Takeo many questions. I didn’t say much but I made sure to listen closely. Listening to information and keeping it locked up in my brain. I seemed to do this all the time.

***

There was a week where I had to live on the property with Takeo. He was a colossal jerk. He taunted me for reasons unknown to me. He was clever enough to hide his taunts from Father. I wouldn’t have mattered. I would have never told Father. I am old enough to handle my own problems.

We trained together and he always tried to upstage me. Ignoring him was getting harder to do. The fencing coach Father hired packed up and left us alone. I was drinking water when I felt Takeo’s presence behind me. He decided to talk to me. I preferred he continue to ignore me.

“I don’t think you’re strong enough to be in this family.”

“I’m only twelve.” How strong does this idiot think I should be? I wonder if he knows I take karate. I wonder if he knows how efficient I am with rifles and handguns. I go to the gun range once a week. I’m a better shot than Father. I bet Takeo doesn’t know that about me.

“You only twelve. What an excuse. You are weak.”

“What’s wrong with your English Tak?”

“My name is Takeo. Stop calling me Tak?”

“I will call you whatever I want to call you.”

“Where did Father find you, in the ghetto?” He laughed at his stupid assumptions of me. “You not Japanese.”

“You not smart. It’s you’re, not you. Learn English first, idiot.”

“You idiot.”

“No it’s you’re. You’re an idiot Tak.”

It was a good thing Tak only came to visit a few times a year. I learned to tolerate him the older I got.

Usually his visits were this grand learning experience for me. Father used Tak to teach me things that he didn’t want others to know I knew. Father wanted to always keep me as his secret weapon. He told me my appearance would disarm people and allow me to strike without warning. I started to understand and believe him when my body started to morph into that of a woman.

Tak taught me how to dismember a body. We didn’t use a real body but it was a bloody mess all the same. He taught me about poisons and chemicals. He showed me how to make a bomb. I had to admit these little lessons brought me closer to my brother. I started to look forward to the times he visited the states. The older I got the cooler he appeared to be.

I watched Tak in action. I watched him torture and kill. He was ruthless and cunning. I wanted to emulate him. He wasn’t the only one I watched. I secretly watched the whores and their John’s from hidden cameras. I viewed everything in life as education. I needed to study sex just as much as any other future relevant subject. One day I would need to know how to do it. I took all my studies seriously. I was in no hurry to have sex but I still was interested in how at all worked.

14 YEARS OLD

I can’t believe Father made me go to a magnet school in the inner city. I had my heart set on going away to boarding school in Switzerland. I almost feel like this is some stupid form of torture, an unjust punishment but Father has never punished me. He says he wants me to fit in with the regular people. This is code for the poor people. I was once poor before he adopted me. Funny I didn’t know it at the time. I never really understood what it all meant.

I hated I had to go to this new public high school. I made the most of my situation and I found it to be simple. I had taken many classes in various areas of study. The curriculum was very vast considering the crime and poverty that surrounded the actual high school.

This neighborhood was bad, nightly newsworthy bad and not in the good way. Father said it was to prepare me for my future. I took a drama class and personal acting classes for years. I was able to fit in by pretending to be like the other teenagers. My acting coach also helped with my language studies and dialect. Apparently I talked proper with an overzealous knack for enunciation. I learned some street slang along with some liberties of urban English and on the surface I was just like everyone else at school.

I didn’t get dropped off in the limousine. Well I did sort of. I had a chauffeur slash bodyguard named Percy. I didn’t like Percy but I was always polite, something about him gave me the creeps.

Percy dropped me off blocks from the school and I walked the rest of the way. I made sure he dropped me where none of my classmates would see me. I emerged from alleys and abandoned buildings. I always had my gun and knife on me so I never was afraid of getting robbed or worse. Father gave my brother Tak and me matching small caliber handguns last Christmas.

After the first year at my new school I started taking public transportation. I took my role as a smart inner city youth to heart. I stopped moaning and groaning to my father. I just went with it after I realized father had no plans of pulling me out of the overcrowded public high school. After awhile I loved being with my own kind, the other black kids.

I blended in well. I dressed the part. I looked the part. After a short time I even made friends with a few girls that oddly resembled me. People liked me, especially the teachers. I spoke five different languages and my test scores were always off the charts. I wasn’t ever number one in my class. I made sure that I was smart but I never wanted to over do it and draw too much attention to myself. I was a ghost.

It was best to live in the shadows. That was a valuable lesson my Father taught me. I could excel just enough to wow people.

Father said I should always keep my strengths and weaknesses locked deep inside. The enemy can never best you with only a piece of who you truly are and what you are capable of. His words resonate with me. I value his teachings. He is wise.

My father had many enemies, some real, some imaginary and some lying peacefully six feet under. Some are in the ocean.

If something happened to Father Tak was on the fast track to run things in Japan. I was being groomed to run things in the states. Father was doing everything in his power to move his criminal businesses to completely legitimate ones. I believed he would. With my assistance he was well on his way. I wasn’t naive or stupid. I knew my Father was a criminal.

I was very observant for a teen. I had learned the value of people watching at a young age. I could read people’s body language. It was a rare person that acted and thought different than their bodies conveyed. Father taught me to steer clear of most men because he warned me some men had a thing for underage girls. I dismissed his words at first until I was old enough to detect the lust in their eyes as they watched me from afar.

There was one man in particular that caught my eye. Maybe I was me that caught his eye. It was Mr. Moyer the music teacher at my school. He was actually the head of the entire music department.

At first glance Mr. Moyer seemed normal enough but he was far from it. There was nothing memorable about him physically. He was plain. He was average in every way imaginable. I’m sure he wasn’t popular as a teen and certainly not as an adult. There was something odd about him and my curiosity yielded an investigation.

My instincts are never wrong. His odd mannerisms and quirky idiosyncrasies were signs of immoral behavior. He was one of those child predators that I had heard of on the news. Sure he wasn’t cruising the outskirts of the school grounds in a white rape van. Yet he was the worse kind of deviant pervert in my opinion. He was the kind that gained your trust and then violated it. He was my first target. I handpicked him and I was proud of it for some odd reason.

I watched him for months. He was very predictable. He was my new pet project. I vetted him meticulously. I didn’t want to be wrong in my assessment of his character. I wanted him dead the minute I uncovered the truth. He was guilty of many offenses. He had been molesting and raping girls for years. I was good at uncovering crucial information. Through sealed documents I learned that some of the schools administration were aware of more than half a dozen complaints against him in the past twenty years at this particular school.

I wondered why they hadn’t done anything. Surely some of them had daughters. Maybe their hands were tied for whatever reason. My hands weren’t tied. I was free and clear. I had a silent rage building in me that I had to release. One day I was going to have to take a life. It was a crucial part of the family business and I embraced it. I had seen father kill and it gave me a rush. It was almost like I pulled the trigger myself. Using deadly force didn’t in any way diminish my love of education or knowledge. It didn’t make me less of a girl. I still liked lipstick and clothes. I had even grown interested in boys.